


my love take your time

by popoyoy11



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, i guess, idk - Freeform, im sorry im bad at writing, ish, it's like a relationship study between the two of them??, it's not that angsty i can't write angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 19:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15492795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popoyoy11/pseuds/popoyoy11
Summary: The first reaction Jason has for these kinds of things (and these kinds of things being getting stuff thrown in his face) is either: 1) Dodge or 2) Face it and walk backwards into hell.He's died, what's the worse that could happen?





	my love take your time

**Author's Note:**

> Henlo im (not) back! life's a bitch right now, and mine is practically in shambles but i had this lying around and i wanted to post it. i know it's sucky, yeah? please know that english is not my first language and that if you notice anything strange or out of place please point it out.

The first reaction Jason has for these kinds of things (and these kinds of things being getting stuff thrown in his face) is either: 1) Dodge or 2) Face it and walk backwards into hell.

 He’s _died_. What worse thing can a bunch of gas do? Kill him again?

The little dynamite? Bomb? Whatever it is that Scarecrow throws at him misses. It travels past him and hits the wall of an abandoned building. Jason revs his bike and pulls out his Glock. Handling the bike with one hand only, he aims at the back tire of the car and pulls the trigger.

He doesn’t miss. Scarecrow’s getaway car veers to the left and crashes straight into a dumpster.

Jason brakes the bike. He whistles, ditching his bike and jogs slightly over to the wrecked car, gun trained in hand. At the beginning of the chase, the car only had two passengers. Jason surveys the car. He goes around to Scarecrow’s side, wrenching open the door and finds him unconscious, slumped over the dashboard.

The thug driving the car though, was nowhere to be found.

“Aw, fuck.”

The docks of Gotham are never a pleasant place to play hide-n-seek. It smells and it’s dark everywhere. The only good thing about the west part of the docks that he’s in is that they’ve employed a grid system for their containers. Thank fuck for that because he’s able to comb through them systematically, boots crunching the wet gravel.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Jason sing-songs. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise,” he continues. He hears the pitter-patter of steps ahead of him and kickstart to a run. He finds the thug running away at a junction. Without a trace of doubt, Jason shoots him in the calf. The man cries out, stumbling over and falling face-first to the ground.

Jason clicks his tongue, leisurely walking over to the screaming man. “Man, I don’t know how many times I have to say this but if you meet Red Hood, just stay the fuck down, you know? Don’t try to run away or anything. It just makes my job _way_ harder,” he sighs. “I mean, I’ll get you in the end anyway, so what’s the point of running?”

The man looks up at Jason looming over him, terrified.

And _this_ , this is where he makes his mistake, because Jason’s life is never, ever easy, and the universe hates him to the point of oblivion.

He takes off his helmet, holds it under his arm. Jason crouches and smirks down at the man. “Any last words?”

The man, with a trembling hand, throws a fistful of powder at Jason’s face.

-

The thug gets what he deserves in the end (Jason shot him in the head, _twice_ ). Nevertheless, the toxin is already on his face and his hair and his lungs and yes, his first reaction was to jump back and run and _wash it the fuck off._ He did, it wasn’t _enough._ The places where the powder sits still burns and tastes bitter going down his throat. He stops swinging at a random rooftop and takes off his helmet, gasps for air because the world is starting to condense, and collapse and _holy fucking shit_ the fear toxin is stronger than he last remembers.

He groans, sliding down against a billboard pillar, abandoned helmet rolling off to one side.

 “Jesus fucking _Christ._ ”

This is going to be one hell of a ride.

-

Four hours later Jason comes to his senses. He’s got his knees to his chest, lying on the hard, dirty rooftop floor of a building he doesn’t recognize, and he’s drenched with sweat.

Jason takes in a shuddering breath, swallows against his parched throat’s protests.

He gets up—or tries to, because the moment he does, his head spins and he retches.

“Fuck.”

Jason’s hands won’t stop shaking all the way home.

-

He finds Tim easily enough. The boy is too paranoid not to let Jason know where he is. After a slight detour to one of his safehouses—after he burned the previous armor and uniform and decontaminated himself—he goes back out to the streets, too hurried to even put on a domino on and catches Tim just before he jumps to the next crime scene.

He grabs Tim’s arm and turns him around. Tim’s expecting him, because he has a small smile ready for Jason.

“Hey Jay—”

Jason slots his mouth over Tim’s easily. He draws Tim in, hands possessive brands on Tim’s hips. The latter doesn’t make a sound, save for a little sudden intake of air that wouldn’t be noticeable to anyone but Jason. Tim doesn’t push him away, just opens his mouth and lets Jason coax him into the kiss. He laces his fingers behind Jason’s neck and kisses Jason back with the same fervent energy he gives to his cases. Jason’s blood pounds heavily in his ears at the knowledge, surprising himself when a little high noise escapes the back of his throat. Tim pulls back, his eyebrows raised up in astonishment, and pauses for a second, his breathing only slightly quicker than it was a minute ago.

Jason should be mortified, but his attention is torn between how much he wants to rip off the domino so he could see Tim’s icy blue irises, and Tim’s spit-slick lips. Tim catches him glancing at his mouth, and—like the little shit that he is—smirks.

Jason hates his heart for skipping a beat, and his face for heating up to the sight of Red Robin smirking at him with that obscenely red mouth and those goddamn pair of dominos still perched on his face.

It’s—it’s hot, okay?

Tim opens his mouth to say something but Jason cuts him off by again, fitting his lips on Tim’s.

“Wait, Jay—” Tim tries in between breaths. “Stop—” Jason kisses him again. “What’s wrong—”

Jason doesn’t let Tim get a word in at all, that is kind of the point. Tim makes a sound of protest and one minute, Jason’s tongue was throat-deep in Tim’s mouth and the next, he was looking up at the cloudy skies of Gotham.

 “Hello? Earth to Jason?”

He lies there, breathless, as Tim’s face appears into view a second later. Tim’s familiar weight settles on his chest. The boy’s hair blows when the wind does, and Jason follows its movement, his fingers itch to run through those soft-looking strands.

“What?” Jason breathes out.

“What’s wrong?” Tim’s face is scrunched up in worry. It’s not a good look on him. Tim should always smile, Jason thinks distractedly. He remembers a moment earlier that afternoon when he’d said some dumb joke about Star Trek and Tim couldn’t help himself. Jason watched this megawatt smile light up his face, his eyes, _Christ_ , had been so gorgeous. Jason couldn’t forget the way Tim’s laugh caused flowers to shoot up his throat either.

“Nothing,” Jason lies through his teeth, “can’t a guy kiss his boyfriend out of nowhere for no reason at all once in a while?”

Tim’s forehead smooths out into a blank canvas and his lips thin.

 “Jason.”

Jason, resolute, lifts his chin and tilts his head slightly, trying to infuse as much defiance into his posture and tone as possible.

“What?” He challenges, grins.

Tim sighs minutely, just a barely-there exhale through his mouth. Somebody else would miss it even with the proximity. Not Jason.

“Alright,” he concedes, lifting himself up from Jason’s chest. “Be that way.” He turns and heads for the ledge of the building.

Jason sits up, huffing. He watches Tim’s back as he goes, the firm set of his shoulders, the length of his cape sweeping around him, and can’t get his eyes off Tim.  

(Jason tells his brain to _fucking stop_ already, there’s nothing interesting in the way a person _walks_ , hell.)

He should reach out. Any other person would. Make Tim turn around and tell him what just happened, be sincere and be honest, and explain, explain, _explain,_ ask him to stay. But Jason’s body won’t move.

“I have a bank robbery on 11th,” Tim announces.

It’s not an invitation.

A pause.

“Get your domino back on, somebody will see you,” Tim reminds him, tone gentle, despite.

He sets off to the North with his grappling hook and leaves Jason with his turmoil alone on a windy night on a rooftop in Gotham.

-

“Morning!”

              Dick chirps, barging his way into Tim’s office in the Wayne tower.

              Tim smiles at his brother, tries to ignore the glimpses of his employees’ hanging jaws and wide eyes aimed at Dick through the closing door. “Hey, Dick.”

              The older man holds up a blue cup of coffee and hands it to him. “Sustenance.”

Tim lights up, accepting the beverage with glee. “Oh man,” he sighs contently after his first sip, “Jitters?” he asks.

Dick nods, he goes to the couch in the middle of the room and makes himself comfortable there, propping his feet up on the adjacent short coffee table.

Tim walks over and sits down on the table, bringing his coffee with him. He wraps his hands around the paper cup, trying to trap the warmth of the caffeine between his hands.

Tim nods at Dick’s clothes. “What did Damian do this time?”

Dick has a pair of shades sitting on his nose, his hair is artfully messed up and he’s wearing one of those semi-formal (but still ridiculously expensive) suit jackets and a matching pair of pants. His grey shirt is unbuttoned at the top and he’s not wearing a tie.

Dick smiles slyly. “You just automatically assume it’s him, don’t you?”

“Well, you’re busting out the slutty outfit, so,” Tim shrugs, pushing his rolled shirt-sleeves up and over his elbows. They’re going to crinkle, he hopes Alfred won’t mind. “Must be something bad enough to warrant an appearance from the hermit first ward of Bruce Wayne.”

“Hey, I appear in the public eye enough, thank you!” Dick replies defensively.

Tim holds eye contact with Dick and raises an eyebrow at him.

Dick grimaces. His older brother had been cooped up in Bludhaven for some time now, Tim has every intention in the world to guilt-trip him into coming out more. The burden of schmoozing the elites is too heavy for one person to bear. “Okay, fine, I’ll come to next week’s Fight for AIDS Gala with you.”

“Thanks,” Tim smiles, all saccharine and fake china ripoffs, “you didn’t have to.”

Dick levels him with his best deadpan look.

“You really turned the act to a nine this time didn’t you,” Tim asks, changing the subject. “I saw Mary gawking at you with the filthiest _look_ ,” Tim fake-shudders, “she’s like seventy, Dick, she brings me _cupcakes_ because I remind her of her _grandson_.”

“Eh.” Dick shrugs, and his midnight-blue jacket moves with him. The suit really does fit on Dick like sin. “Mean it’s working, isn’t it?”

Tim laughs. “God, whose pants are you trying to get into anyway?”

“Just some nice ladies, is all,” Dick answers, waggling his eyebrows for good measure. “I gotta brunch them up for a case lead.” Suits don’t constitute brunches though. Bruce’s extensive lessons on high social etiquettes and what not to do—or rather what to _selectively_ do to create certain images—guarantees this information to be in Dick’s head. This just shows how extra Dick is being for this brunch. He waves a hand at his clothes. “You think this’ll do?”

Tim squints and tilts his head, considering. “I’d pop another button if I were you.”

Dick does.

Tim grins, satisfied. “Perfect. Now no one can tell you from a stripper.”

Dick snorts and Tim’s smile widens.

“So,” Dick drawls, lolling his head back before training his sights on Tim. He grins mischievously, pearly white teeth on display. His eyes are unreadable behind the shades.

Tim blinks.

“A little birdie told me that there was—”

“Oh no,” Tim gets up urgently and goes back to his desk.

Dick’s footsteps follow him there. “—trouble in paradise?”

Tim throws himself onto his chair and hunches over the paperwork on his desk, looks at Dick pointedly. “I am _not_ answering that.”

“Aw, c’mon Timmy, tell your favorite bro what’s going on,” Dick says, lowering his shades and walking around the desk to lean at the edge of it beside him.

Tim chews on his lips, contemplating, as Dick stares at him expectantly, with that dumb sunglasses still askew on his face.

“I’m not sure there’s anything to tell,” Tim answers honestly, clenching and unclenching his hands. “He just—” Tim leaves that unfinished, waving his hand around in the air as if that would somehow get the point across to Dick.

“Just…?” Dick tries for him.

Tim sighs. The urge to suppress everything and let it drown is overpowered with the knowledge that it won’t work. Contrary to Batman’s beliefs, emotion is an inseparable part of being a human being, and if there are anybody out there for Tim to talk to about it, it’s Dick. He continues.

“Up and left. Kissed me and disappeared. It’s been a week.”

Dick takes off his sunglasses now and folds them onto a pocket on his suit, frowning. “That doesn’t seem very weird, considering it’s Jason. Maybe there was a case that he didn’t tell you about?”

“Yeah, but—” Tim hesitates. He rubs his temples; his own confusion is giving him a headache.

“But?”

“There was this atmosphere with him the last time I saw him.”

“Oh?”

“Like he was—” Tim pauses, throws his hands up in frustration, “I don’t know! He didn’t _seem_ scared, just, tense,” he finishes. “Like he was hiding something,” he adds as an afterthought.

“That bad?” Dick reaches out a hand to put on Tim’s shoulder. Tim relaxes onto it slightly.

“He just seemed out of it,” he continues, deflating into the chair with each word. “Usually I know what’s eating him up, or I could kind of tell, at least. Not specifically but it’s usually the same things, you know? A hard case, Bruce, or you, sometimes,” Tim admits. “But this time, it was—weird, the air was weird, it was as if he was—desperate? I guess. For what, I don’t know.” Tim sighs, leaning back onto his chair, he grabs a pen and twirls it in the air. “What’s worse is that I could see it in his eyes—he wasn’t going to tell me, like, ever.” He finishes, looking up at the patterned ceiling of his office.

Dick’s frown deepens, he crosses his arms. “I had some people in the middle east contact me, Pakistan. They say they saw Jason there.”

“Thanks Dick, but that doesn’t really help.”

“Hey Tim,” Dick calls gently.

Tim turns his head and meets Dick’s soft gaze.

“It’ll be okay, yeah? He’ll come back home, he can’t stand to be without you.”

“I hope so.”

“I’ll keep you updated, okay?”

“Okay,” Tim gives Dick a weak smile. “Thanks again, Dick.”

Dick shakes his head. “No problem.”

The older man then pushes off the desk and slides his shades back on his face. He grins. “Now let’s get this party going!”

With a whoop, Dick exits the room, turning heads with him was he walks down the halls of the floor.

 Tim turns on the local news channel and waits for Dick’s face to inevitably show up there.

-

Jason does a double take when he enters his safehouse. Red Robin is there, bo staff and cape on a stool in the middle of his kitchen, he’s typing on a laptop on Jason’s kitchen island.

“Hey,” Tim greets him. The lights are still off so Tim’s screen is the only source of illumination. The blue glow of the laptop mixes in with the mottled green of a bruise underneath Tim’s cheekbones, it makes him look more sickly than usual. “How was Cyprus?” Tim asks nonchalantly, eyes still trained on his task. “I’d turn the lights on and everything, but you changed your system, and I can’t overrun a retinal scan.”

Jason purses his lips and sets his helmet down on the table in front of his couch. He goes past Tim to the wall next to the fridge, puts his eyes close to a scanner next to it, and immediately the electricity breathes life to the room.

“Thanks,” Tim says to his back.

Jason turns around and grits his teeth. “What are you doing?”

Tim stops his movements, stops his breathing. His body is on pause, hands hovering slightly above the keyboard, face the same carefully blank expression he wears to face villains and monsters and Ra’s Al-Ghul. He’s staring straight at Jason, but Jason can’t see his eyes. There’s a millisecond of silence that stretches a thousand miles, a millisecond of suspense comparable to an eerie calm before a deadly storm.

“Working,” he finally replies, his fingers meet with the letters once again, body liquified into motion, and the familiar _tap-tap-tap_ of Tim’s typing pattern continues.

“I can see that.”

The smile Tim gives him next is devoid of any emotion, Jason much prefers the other ones. “That’s nice, means your eyes are working, aren’t they?”

Jason crosses his arms but doesn’t dare to take a step closer. “Evidently, yours aren’t. Because you can’t read the fucking mood right now.”

Tim slams shut his laptop so suddenly Jason almost jumps. Almost. “Listen, Todd,” he starts, palms gripping the edge of the marble. “Spare me the bullshit, sit down and talk like a goddamn fucking adult for once.”

Jason squares his shoulders, and somehow keeps his voice steady through the _wrongness_ of it all. “Fuck you, replacement,” he says coolly.

Tim takes a deep breath in and his shoulder slumps a fraction of a centimeter on his exhale. “Alright, Jason. I’ve given you time, I’ve given you space. I don’t know what else you want from me, but,” he stands up, walks over to Jason and stops in front of him. Tim stands on his tiptoes to put his lips next to Jason’s ears. Jason can feel his lips moving when he speaks, he suppresses a shiver. “If we are to part,” he says, voice low, “let’s make it sweet, alright?”

When Tim leaves, he takes all the air in the room with him. Jason doesn’t even notice the laptop sitting silent on his kitchen island until half an hour later.

-

Tim’s base is on top of the theatre that Bruce went to the night his parents were killed.

Jason considers this to be pretty morbid, but then again, he’s the man who came back from the dead and is kind-of-dating his ex-dad’s son, so he can’t really say anything. The entrance to the living area is way at the back, concealed by a nanotech that obscures the door from the surrounding walls. It can only be entered through DNA-recognition, and Tim hasn’t erased his from the system yet.

Jason doesn’t know what he did in his previous life to deserve Tim, but it must have been something stupidly heroic.

He inches into the bedroom slowly, putting the laptop away on a desk by the door. Tim doesn’t move when Jason enters the bedroom, he’s curled to his left, cocooned in a blanket and surrounded by pillows. Jason wishes he could be under that blanket right now, but he isn’t. He pulls up a chair and sits in front of a sleeping Tim.

Tim’s eyes are open.

Jason sends him a wry smile. “Hey.”

He keeps watching, Jason can’t meet his eyes anymore.

Jason has always had a question that runs around in his head since they first got together. They started with a little bit of teasing, then with a hand for one another, and ends up somehow in the same bed, but there’s one question that he’s never asked, and Tim’s never given any answer to.

“Why did you forgive me?” He blurts out. “I tried to kill you, I don’t—I don’t deserve this. I can kill you again, I could—” Jason can’t finish, he’s spluttering, and his head won’t get in with the program, “in your sleep or something, I could—”

Tim sits up very slowly. The sight of Tim in a bed is too familiar to Jason, he ca. The blanket pooling around his narrow waist. He looks so small, like this, even though his presence is bigger than anything in Jason’s life right now and before.

“Jay,” Tim starts, carefully, slowly. “I know there’s something bothering you, and I want to help,” Tim is looking at him like he might break, and Jason—Jason can’t stand that. “Or maybe I did something,” he adds, “but I can’t help, and I don’t know how to help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Jason’s lets out a tremulous bark of laughter. “Got hit with fear toxin,” his smile turns grim, the anger’s got a hold on him now, and it’s seeping into his words. Anger at himself, at the world, at _himself._

“And you wouldn’t believe what I saw. Tim, it was you and I—” he swallows. “It was me, I killed you. I had my—my hand around your neck, or my gun to your head, or I beat you to death with a—with a fucking _crowbar_.” Another maniacal laugh. “Hundreds and thousands of different ways. Whichever it was, one thing stayed the same—it was me.”

Jason trembles minutely, the rush of anger makes his head ache.

He only dares to look at Tim again when the roar in his ears have subsided. Soon as he does, a supernova is logged in his throat. Tim’s always so patient with him, but right now Tim’s really going _beyond._

There’s no fear in Tim’s eyes, no anger, no frustration, just open, honest, trust.

 “Fuck,” he hangs his head, hand coming up to mess up his hair. “Isn’t it better if I’m not around you?”

There’s a heavy silence as soon as Jason stops talking. Tim takes his hand, and Jason lets him. He holds on to it, gently turning it over, scrutinizing it, as if looking for new scars that he’s missed since they last met.

Jason can’t breathe.

“Jason,” Tim says his voice soft. “You were sick, you were raged—wronged. I’m not saying I’ll ever understand what you did but I forgave you because you’ve changed, because you want to change, because you tried, despite my insistence to hate you. You tried anyway and didn’t even expect me to forgive you. I didn’t even know when I forgave you. I just did, and for all the back and forth, for all of our arguments I—” Tim pauses. Take a second. Rethink. Regroup. Jason knows all his tics.

He stares into Jason’s eyes. “I believe in you,” he near-whispers, his voice hoarse. “I’d trust you with my life, and my death.”

Jason can’t help the sharp intake of breath if he wants to.

“We’ll work our way through, okay?” Tim continues, he’s clutching Jason’s hand now, unconsciously bringing it close to his chest. “You won’t kill me. Because we can’t—be without each other, we can’t. The fear toxin allows you to see your biggest fear. It’s in no way shape or form a possible future,” he presses, eyes piercing in the darkness of the room, pinning Jason in place.

“It’s your fear, Jason. And you can overcome it. I’m not just saying things batman said. We—all of us, Bruce, Dick, Cass—have made it so far here _because_ we overcame our fears, because despite all the things that we know can go wrong, we choose to fight for what we think is right. So, don’t go away again, okay? Don’t. Don’t hide from me, don’t run away from me,” Tim begs, “please.”

Jason doesn’t have the power to move. He’s too floored by the weight and depth of Tim’s words. The air is so heavy you could slice it with a knife. Jason swallows. He opens his mouth, finds that nothing will come out.

He lets a beat pass by. Two. Three. Until air rushes into his lungs, negative pressure winning over and he feels like he’s quivering in his own skin.

“You know it means one of my biggest fears is your death though, right?”

“Yeah.” Tim nods. “Mine too.”

“What?” Jason is lightheaded from this conversation.

Tim gives him a humorless smile. “Jason, I regularly test myself against fear toxins, how many visions do you think I have had in the last month?”

“Tim!” Jason very nearly jumps out of his chair.

“It’s fine.” Tim shakes his head. “It’s fine, I’m used to it.”

“No, Tim, that’s—that’s fucking insane.”

“I know, I know. Let’s save that conversation for another day?” Tim asks, tugging Jason’s wrists to his direction.

Jason can’t say no to that, he lets himself be pulled and he falls on top of Tim. He wraps himself around the familiar contours of Tim’s body, tucking his face to the crook of Tim’s neck. He melts into Tim, sighing in relief. They take a moment to stay still, finally surrounded in each other. God, he’s missed this, he’s missed Tim, his warmth, his scent, his heartbeat. What was he thinking?

“I’m tired,” Jason murmurs.

“Sleep?” Tim replies, he’s got one hand underneath Jason’s leather jacket, not-so-subtly trying to dislodge it from Jason’s broad shoulders.

Jason groans in complaint, not wanting to move.

“Jason, you’re going to comply one last time tonight or I swear to God I’m going to cut your jacket to pieces.”

Jason scoffs. “So snarky so soon after such a declaration of love.”

Tim swats him.

“Ouch! Fine! Fine! Uncle!”

Tim rolls his eyes. “I don’t even know why people are scared of you, you’re like a giant cuddly teddy bear,” he observes as Jason chucks his leather jacket and jeans to the general direction of the chair.

“Hey,” Jason frowns up at him. “I’m a giant cuddly teddy bear who kills criminals, thank you very much.”

Tim sighs and kisses the top of Jason’s head. “Good thing you’re hot,” he mutters.

Jason sidles up to Tim and kisses his neck. “Hey, Tim,” he says, slowly feeling the fatigue of the two weeks catch up to him.

“Yeah?”

“’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

“Yerright, can’t bear to be without you,” Jason admits. “Still pretty sure I don’t deserve you, so you’re getting the short stick out of this relationship.”

“It’s fine, Jason, I’ll be all the sticks, okay?”

“Mkay.”

-

“So where _have_ you been these past couple of weeks?”

Jason shrugs. “Eh,” he says, “here and there.”

Stephanie swings her legs over the ledge, popping another piece of fry into her mouth. “That’s very vague.”

“So it is. Where the hell have _you_ been these past couple of weeks?”

“Hong Kong,” Steph answers. “Was with Cass, had a fieldtrip.”

“Oh?”

“Black Mask was on the move, Bruce actually _delegated_ a case to me, can you believe that?” She asks, incredulously. “ _Delegated_. He literally said that.” Steph sticks out her chest and says in her best Batman-esque growl. “‘I’m _delegating_ this case to you, Batgirl, don’t fail.’”

Jason snorts on his soda.

“Is that root beer? Gimme.”

Jason wordlessly passes the cup of beverage to her while trying to contain his laughter, shoulders shaking with the effort.

 “So,” Jason starts, biting into his burger.

“So.” Steph replies, taking a sip from the root beer can.

“I think I’m like, engaged to your ex.”

It’s a good thing they’re on top of a building, so the spray of sticky soda that comes out of Steph’s mouth falls right onto the sidewalk and nowhere near Jason’s face. The part where it comes out of her nose though, now _that_ he didn’t see coming.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I'd appreciate it if you'd leave a comment and let me know what you think of the fic :D  
> Find me at tumblr! I'm poythefloat, or perhaps my DC sideblog? it's sneakytimmytime.


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